Edited for Length
by catatonic1242
Summary: A fill-in-the-blanks fic covering "Forever" through "Chosen" from Spike's point of view. The moments we didn't get to see.
1. Forever

Edited for length   
By: catatonic1242

Dislaimer: All of the characters in this work of fiction are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and the evil corporate weasels at the networks.

Summary: A fill-in-the-blanks fic covering "Forever" through "Chosen" from Spike's point of view. The things we didn't get to see.

Pairing: B/S

Author's Notes: I wrote this for the NaNoWriMo Challenge in November of 2003. There are 50 chapters of about 1000 words per chapter. Each chapter corresponds to an episode (as noted in the chapter titles), and each chapter can be read as a stand-alone. Everything is in canon (to the best of my knowledge). Chapters are individually rated.

Chapter One: Forever  
Word Count: 1018  
Rating: PG  
  
I ran into her on my way home from the liquor store. I had a bottle of Jack Daniels under one arm, fresh pack of cigarettes in my hand. She was walking kinda fast, eyes fixed on the ground-- the way people walk when they don't even realize they're walking at all. And when I say "ran," I mean literally. Smacked right into her on the corner of Palm and Third Street. Nearly dropped the JD, which could have been disastrous, given how much I'd end up needing it as the night progressed.  
  
"Spike." Willow looked up at me, startled.   
  
"Watch where you're going," I snarled back.  
  
"Sorry," she muttered, brushing past me.  
  
"Awful hurry you're in. Some big important evil come to end the world again? Scurrying off to your Scooby meeting?"  
  
"What?" She turned around and looked at me again, but her eyes were unfocused. Glassy. After a moment she shook her head as if shaking away a cloud, blinked a couple of times and seemed to process what I'd asked. "No. No, I'm going... I'm going over to Buffy's. We're having a group... thing." Willow gestured lifelessly with her hands before giving up and letting them flop to her sides. "For Joyce."  
  
"For Joyce? Her birthday?" I perked up, curious. Another birthday could mean another encounter with Dawn, the Rebel with Absolutely No Clue. I liked Dawn. Dawn didn't... She didn't judge, I guess.  
  
"What?" Willow stared at me as if I was one card short of a full deck. "Her birthday...? Spike, Joyce is dead. She died on Tuesday."   
  
Tuesday. Tuesday. What's today? Today's... Today's Thursday, right? It's Thursday, because NBC was advertising the newest episode of "Friends" earlier today and I made a mental note... Or is it Friday?   
  
Joyce is dead?  
  
"Joyce is dead?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I... I thought you knew. Something went wrong with the tumor, or where the tumor..." Willow started to trail off, but I leaned forward and grabbed her arm. Not hard enough to hurt her-- the chip -- but enough to get her attention.  
  
"Will..." I said, warning in my voice.  
  
"She had an aneurysm. Buffy came home and found her on the couch. There was nothing anyone could do," Willow finished. She shook her arm away from me and turned to continue walking. She made it about three steps before turning back to me.   
  
"I'm sorry, Spike. Someone should have told you."   
  
And then she walked away. Left me standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, clutching my liquor and trying desperately to remember if today was Thursday or Friday. Because suddenly it seemed very important to know if Joyce had been dead for two days or three. I turned and barged back into the liquor store.   
  
"What's today?"  
  
"Excuse me?" The guy behind the counter looked baffled.  
  
"Today. Day of the week. What is it?"  
  
"Thursday."   
  
I turned and walked outside again. Continued walking down the street. I turned into the cemetery, I know, even though I don't remember doing it, because suddenly I was in front of my crypt.   
  
Shit. Shitshitshit. Shit. Joyce.  
  
I sat down on the cold concrete by the crypt door and fumbled with the pack of cigarettes. And then I fumbled with my lighter. And then I fumbled with the whiskey until there wasn't any more whiskey to fumble with.   
  
And then I sat and shook my head. Joyce wasn't dead. Joyce couldn't die. If anyone was immortal around here, it was the Slayer's mom. Not me. Her.   
  
Flashes. Little flashes of memory cut through my brain like a knife through skin, and it fucking hurt. Hurt like the chip firing, and I looked down and saw that I'd crumbled the now-empty pack of cigarettes into a tight ball in my fist. I opened my hand and it decompressed, expanded. I watched it, barely seeing it at all.  
  
"Well, Spike, sometimes even when two people seem right for each other, their lives just take different paths..."  
  
She must have been so lonely. She was always right there whenever I stopped by, no matter why, with a story and a cup of something hot. She didn't judge. That's where Dawn got it from, I realized.  
  
I stood and threw down the empty bottle. It shattered at my feet and I stomped through the broken glass, crushing it under my boots, and out into the cemetery. Do something. I needed to do... something.   
  
Flowers. Joyce would like flowers. I could have gotten some here, nabbed a fresh bunch off a well-tended grave. But that didn't seem right. As if anything ever seemed right anymore. But Joyce should have her own flowers.   
  
There was a convenience store just down the street, one of those open 24/7 places with bright lights and 12 pumps and attendants who greet you over a loudspeaker. And it had anything a vampire could need in the middle of the night. And they didn't usually ask too many questions.   
  
I walked up to a display of flowers in pre-packaged bunches. Carnations, roses, sunflowers... Daisies. Joyce liked daisies, I think. I don't know why I thought that, but I did. Daisies seemed important. Vital.   
  
And I paid for them, too. Walked up to the cash register and laid my purchase on the counter. The attendant looked me over. Old guy. Retiree. Working there to keep the boredom from caving his life in. Joyce... She should have had that chance. The chance to retire and take a stupid job to stave off boredom.   
  
I realized the guy was staring at me. "What?"  
  
"Flowers at 9:30? Date with a lady friend?"   
  
In a sense, I suppose. "Yeah."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Uh... Yeah. A pack of Marlboro Reds, please."  
  
He reached up and grabbed a pack from the display area behind the counter and scanned it with the flowers.  
  
"That'll be $8.72."  
  
I placed a $50 on the counter. Won it playing cards a couple of days ago. $8.72 didn't seem like enough. Not enough money to... to mourn her. "Keep the change."  
  
I walked out and turned right, headed toward her house.


	2. Intervention

Chapter Two: Intervention  
  
Word Count: 1014  
  
Rating: PG  
  
It was the dumbest plan ever. Let myself get the shit kicked out of me by a Hellgod. Hell, force her to kick the shit out of me. But it at least got me out of the room. Although, admittedly, if Buffy and company hadn't come rushing in at the last second, I'd have been dust in the wind once the maggotty minions caught up with me downstairs.   
  
But they did come rushing in, like a bunch of white knights come to save me. Or kill me. Or possibly both and not necessarily in that order.   
  
And so instead of hanging by my wrists from the ceiling of Glory's living room, I found myself being carried through the cemetery by Giles and Xander. Neither of whom were being particularly gentle. And, as it was the middle of the damn day, sun high in the sky, I was covered by some sort of incredibly scratchy sheet of material that rubbed against a cut on my face, making my eye water. One of my hands flopped out from under the fabric and started to sizzle. Neither Giles nor Xander seemed to notice. I groaned slightly and considered moving it, only to discover that I had no motor function at all. Great. I figured that at least if I burst into flames, I'd take those two blighters with me.  
  
"Watch the head," Giles reminded. He was carrying my feet, leaving Xander in charge of my upper body.  
  
"Yeah. I'll watch the head," Xander smirked. Two seconds later, the top of my head grazed what I could only assume was a tombstone.  
  
"Xander..." Giles's tone was more amused than warning.   
  
"I told you! I am watching the head! I see it right there in front of me!" I felt my head brush up against another tombstone, the cold marble an electric shock against my shattered cheek.   
  
How do I get myself into these situations? Why didn't I just tell Glory about Dawn? Then the Hellbitch and I could have joined forces to bring this sodding planet to an end. It would have been easy. It would have been the end of it and I wouldn't have to worry about this stupid chip or Buffy or any of her silly little friends.   
  
But Buffy would have stopped it somehow. She always will, in the end. It's what she does. What she's here for.  
  
Still. That doesn't mean I have to help break her. And giving Dawn up would have broken her, that's for damn sure. Just lost her mom-- The Slayer doesn't need to lose anyone else, least of all the only family she's got left. And I don't... I don't want to be the one to hurt her. I don't know what that means, but it's the truth.  
  
"Xander, get his hand." Finally, Giles noticed. Xander grabbed my hand and shoved it back under the fabric, sending throbbing pains through my upper arm, up through my temple and out the back of my head where the second tombstone had grazed it. I probably would have yelled if I'd had the capacity to make any noise louder than a low grumble.   
  
Once we were inside my crypt, they pretty much threw me onto my makeshift bed. I think I might have groaned a little in protest as my head cracked against the concrete. It was the most I could muster.  
  
"Spike. Spike!" Giles shouted at me and shook my arm. The very same arm that was attached to the hand that no more than 60 seconds ago had been flopping around in the sunshine. Giles was now flopping it around, grinding concrete dust into the burn. Fucker.  
  
"I don't think he's conscious, Giles."  
  
Yeah, I am. I just can't actually open my eyes. Or my mouth. Or move any part of my body at all. Otherwise, I would have beaten the crap out of you two for the manhandling. Or, with the chip, at the very least I would have cast an intimidating stare in your direction.  
  
"Well, we need to know if he told Glory about Dawn. If he did, Buffy and Dawn could be in grave danger."  
  
"Yeah, I know. But Giles, I don't think he did." That took me by surprise. Was Xander defending me?   
  
"What makes you say that? Spike has only his own interests in mind. Glory clearly tortured him. He'd have no reason not to admit everything he knows." Yeah, screw you too, Watcher.  
  
"Look at him, though. She beat the crap out of him. Looks like she-- ew, it looks like she stuck a finger in his chest." I could feel Xander hovering over me, inspecting the damage. "If he'd told, would she have done this to him? She did this to get him to confess what he knew, but he didn't. He was running away from those little miniony guys when we got there." Pffff. I wasn't running away. I was gearing up to fi-- Oh, screw it. Yeah, I was running away. I could barely stand after Glory had her way with me.  
  
It was silent in the crypt for several seconds while Giles seemed to survey the damage and consider Xander's point.   
  
"Why wouldn't he tell her?" Giles asked. His tone was lighter now, like he believed Xander and was only asking the question out of Watcherly obligation.  
  
"Because he's in love with Buffy," Xander replied softly. "Or," he continued, louder, "he thinks he's in love with her. Maybe he thought he could win her over by protecting Dawn. Be the big, bleached blond hero. Save the day. Win the girl."  
  
Was Xander-- Did he just say "hero?"   
  
"And besides," Xander added, "Even if he did tell her, he wouldn't admit that to us." Thanks for the vote of confidence, Xander. Ass.  
  
Giles paced around the crypt. "I suppose you're right. And we're not going to get anything at all out of him right now, anyway. Let's go." They started to walk out, but Xander stopped and looked back at me.  
  
"She really tore him up, Giles."  
  
"I know." 


	3. Tough Love

Chapter Three: Tough Love  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Word Count: 1008  
  
I smelled her coming before she got to my crypt. She had this distinctive odor about her-- like wood and hairspray. And sunlight. Or what I remembered sunlight smelling like. Crisp and fresh and potentially deadly.  
  
And I knew she had Dawn with her, too. Dawn smelled like soap and that bubblegum lotion you can buy at the grocery store for $3.49. And there was something else as well-- something dusty and old and sacred. That smell was usually just below the surface of her.  
  
And, as usual, Buffy banged through my door without knocking. Like she thought she owned every crypt in Sunnydale. Like they were where she belonged. She was dragging Dawn behind her and the Bit was protesting loudly.  
  
"I want to go with you! Tara's my friend, too!"  
  
"Dawn, you can't. Just, stay here. I'll be back later, okay?" Buffy ran a hand through Dawn's hair as if it was the only gesture of sisterly affection she could muster. She did that a lot, I'd noticed. I wondered if it worked-- If Dawn felt soothed by the gesture or if its inefficiency just irritated her more.  
  
Buffy looked away from Dawn and up at me. "Spike, will you watch her?" Her tone was rushed-- not unkind, but it carried an undertone of urgency that warned me not to play games with her right now.  
  
I nodded. "Sure."  
  
"You should probably take her downstairs... Or into the tunnels. Glory knows you live here, so..."  
  
I nodded again and stood, motioning for Dawn to come to me. She moved away from Buffy and stood behind me, near the opening to the lower level of my crypt. She stared at her shoes.  
  
Buffy held my eyes for a moment, then turned and walked out.  
  
I walked to where Dawn stood. "Well, to the tunnels, I guess." Wordlessly, she began to climb down the ladder. I followed closely behind her, maintaining the silence. We exited my crypt through the small opening in the lower room which I used to travel around Sunnydale during the daylight hours. Dawn turned to me as if anticipating directions. I pointed left and we began to walk, Dawn in the lead, me a few steps behind. After a few seconds she stopped, reached into her bag and pulled out a small flashlight, then continued walking.  
  
I started to wonder how long Dawn would go without speaking. Usually the Bit was quite a blabbermouth and the silence was starting to unnerve me. I wanted to talk to her, to ask her exactly what was going on, but I worried that any wrong word would end in the teenage snit to end all snits. I assumed that Buffy's hasty request had something to do with Glory. But it couldn't be a fight of any kind, or she would have wanted me there. Right?  
  
Finally, while my internal debate was still raging, Dawn broke the silence herself.  
  
"Tara's in the hospital."  
  
That threw me, although looking back I'm not really sure why. I suppose it's because out of all of them, Tara always seemed the least likely to get hurt. She was always hanging back, never right in the middle of the fray. I liked Tara more than the rest of non-Summers Scoobies. She was more real, somehow.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She had a fight with Willow and Tara left. And then I guess Glory found her. Glory thought Tara was the Key. Willow went to find her, but she was too late."  
  
Shit. That Key stuff-- Glory was one dumb hellbitch.  
  
"But she didn't kill her?"  
  
"No. She did that brainsuck thing on her, though. Nobody would tell me how bad it was."  
  
"I'm sure she's fine, Dawn."  
  
She looked at me. Held my eyes exactly like Buffy had done just moments before. They were sisters-- that much was obvious.  
  
"How would you know?"  
  
"Because she's got Willow and your sister and Giles and plenty of doctors." Because she had to be. Because I wasn't sure how much more of this they could take. How much more Buffy could take. She walked through all of this drama like it was nothing-- Like it was air. But I worried, sometimes... There was nothing behind her eyes anymore, and I didn't know how much more she could lose before she shattered into a million pieces and was lost forever.  
  
"Right. Right." Dawn didn't seem exactly soothed. She just continued walking through the tunnels at breakneck speed.  
  
"Dawn. Dawn! Slow down."  
  
"I should be at the hospital." She kept up her pace.  
  
"You'll see Tara soon enough." Wincing, I put on a bit of speed and caught up with Dawn. "Let me lead, would you?" She moved to the side and let me pass and silence fell between us again.  
  
Every once in a while as we walked I heard Dawn sniffle behind me. She wasn't sobbing-- just crying quietly in the dark. Not the way Dawn usually cries-- no big scene, no yelling, no dramatics. I was grateful for that little noise, both because it was quiet enough for me to pretend I couldn't hear it, and because it kept me from having to turn around and check on her. But it also tore at me. I wondered if there should be a limit to what these girls were expected to endure. I wanted to turn around and... comfort her. Somehow. But I didn't know how. That wasn't what I was made for. I was made to destroy.  
  
And yet somehow it seemed like Buffy expected me to be the big protector. Even though I couldn't hit humans. Even though I'd just had the shit kicked out of me by the very same hellgod who was now hunting down Buffy's friends. As Dawn and I walked through the tunnels in silence, I smiled a little. Buffy trusted me. She hadn't offered to pay me, hadn't threatened to kill me. She'd just asked, knowing I'd help. Knowing I'd do everything I could to keep Dawn safe.  
  
And I would. 


	4. Spiral

Chapter Four: Spiral  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Word Count: 1225  
  
Buffy had this nasty habit of stomping into my crypt at all hours of the day and night. Just two days before she came running in there, dropped Dawn off, and left again without explaining herself or saying thank you. Not as if I would have said no, but still. It would be nice to hear it.  
  
Of course, every time I thought about the last time she thanked me, my lips got all tingly...  
  
"I won't forget it."  
  
Yeah. Neither would I. I thought about it sometimes when I didn't have anything better to do.  
  
Okay. I thought about it all the time. It's what I was thinking about when she came stomping into my crypt in the middle of the afternoon.   
  
"I need your help." She seemed panicked, but she was hiding it well. Putting on an air of self-control. But there was terror under the surface; I could feel it. Two months before I would have raised an eyebrow and offered some slick innuendo. Or maybe asked for money. Possibly run my tongue between my teeth. Not now, though. The time for single entendres had passed several weeks ago.  
  
I hopped off my sarcophagus. "With what?"  
  
"I need a car. Or, a van. Maybe a station wagon." She looked at me imploringly, almost as if she expected me to blink and materialize one out of thin air.  
  
I blinked, but no vehicle appeared. "Why?"   
  
"We've got to get out of town. Glory knows Dawn is the key."  
  
Shit. "How?" I moved toward her.  
  
"I... We don't have time for that right now. Can you help me? Please?"  
  
Please? Did she just say 'please?' "Yeah. Of course." But why me? "But doesn't Xander have a car? Or Giles?"  
  
"Yeah, but we won't all fit." She paced around the crypt like a caged animal.  
  
"'All?' Who are you taking with you?"  
  
"Dawn and Willow and Xander and Giles and Anya and Tara..." She ticked each name off on her fingers.  
  
"Oh, lovely." I rolled my eyes but softened my tone. "Field trip for the whole gang."  
  
"They're not safe here. Glory's coming after Dawn. Anyone in her way could just..."  
  
"I get it. So, a van, then. Something big."  
  
She nodded anxiously.  
  
As it was the middle of the day, I led her down through the tunnels. I had been leading the Summers women through these tunnels a little too frequently for my taste. Buffy was silent for the whole trip, but she followed closely behind me, spurring me on with the waves of urgency that radiated off her.   
  
When we were underneath Sunnydale Place-- a charming little mobile home court where nobody batted an eye if your wife was also your cousin-- I stopped and looked at her. "We're going up. Stay behind me." I pulled my duster over my head and bolted out of the tunnel and across a yard, dodging several hot pink flamingos and one really ugly ceramic troll. I stopped short in a wide patch of dark shade between two run-down double-wides and Buffy nearly ran into my back.   
  
"Hey!" Buffy started to shout at me, but I quickly placed a finger over my lips.  
  
"Shhhh!" I whispered. "Stealthy. I know you know stealthy, Slayer. In theory, anyway."  
  
She gave me a look. "What are we doing here, Spike?" she hissed at me.  
  
I pointed to my left. "Winnebago. Seats seven. Better than a van for long road trips."  
  
"We're going to ste--" She looked indignant momentarily, but she seemed to remember the situation and she gave up. "What's the plan?"  
  
"Do you know how to hotwire a Winnebago?" I asked sarcastically.  
  
She didn't justify my question with an answer, just narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.  
  
I shrugged. "Well, I'm going to go steal that camper. Are you coming with me?"  
  
She nodded. I counted to three and then took off running toward the vehicle, Buffy following closely behind me. I ran up to the passenger door and pulled, anticipating that it would be locked and I'd have to break the window with my elbow. Instead, it opened with a rusty creak and I hurried into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind me. It rattled on its hinges. Buffy ran around to the passenger side and climbed in beside me.   
  
I looked at her, then looked down at the steering wheel. The keys were in the ignition. Gas tank was full.  
  
"Well. That's got to be a sign, doesn't it?" I gestured toward the keys.  
  
"That we were fated to steal this Winnebago? Sure." Buffy shrugged absently. "I told everyone I'd pick them up two streets behind Xander's house, in the alley between that collector's shop and the law library." She reached absently behind her, fingers groping for a non-existent seat belt. Finding nothing, she dropped her hands into her lap and leaned forward, anticipating.  
  
I turned the keys and the ignition sputtered to life, surprising the hell out of me. Must be someone's lucky day.   
  
"Okay, well, let me just drop myself off at the cemetery and then you all can get going."  
  
"What?" She whirled her head around to face me, eyes wide.  
  
"Well, it's daylight and I don't fancy walking home on fire." She continued to stare blankly at me. Did she really expect me to just let myself out on the corner in broad daylight?  
  
"No. I mean, you're coming with us."   
  
It was my turn to whirl around to face her.   
  
"What? Why?"  
  
She looked at me sheepishly. "Well, I mean, if you don't want to... But I just... Dawn likes having you around. I think it makes her feel safer."  
  
That was all the explanation I wanted. Of course, honestly, I didn't need any explanation at all.   
  
I put the thing in gear and drove quickly out of the park, careful to stay on the shady streets.  
  
"Okay. Sure." I nodded. "But-- um..." The sun was on Buffy's side of the seats now but wouldn't always be.   
  
"Oh. Oh! We can cover the windows." She jumped out of her seat and ran to the kitchen section of the Winnie. I slowed to a stop on a shaded side road and joined her.  
  
"Ah! Tinfoil!" I stood and watched as she used half the roll to cover the windshield and front windows.   
  
"Okay. But now nobody can see to drive," I pointed out from the back, where I was rummaging through the bedroom.  
  
"Yeah. I got that." She walked back to the kitchenette, grabbed a knife and used it to cut a perfect rectangle in the tinfoil in front of the driver's seat.   
  
"There."  
  
I exited the bedrom wearing my discovery-- an antiquated pair of aviator sunglasses-- and carrying several maps of California.  
  
"Here." I handed the maps to Buffy. "You should probably figure out where we're headed before we start to head there."   
  
She looked at me and bit her lip. "Uh... Thanks."  
  
I moved past her and up to the front of the camper. "No problem." I watched her sit down at the kitchen table and spread the maps out in front of her. We drove in silence for a few minutes.  
  
Then, as I was pulling down the alley where we were to meet the rest of the happy travelers, she turned to me. "Thanks, Spike."  
  
"Anytime." 


End file.
